


Pale Pink Lingerie

by ASignificantWhisper



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASignificantWhisper/pseuds/ASignificantWhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jerome orders you not to do something, you better damn well listen to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale Pink Lingerie

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt/ Jerome/reader request from an anon I received on Tumblr. 
> 
> My Tumblr : wroteclassicaly.tumblr.com
> 
> Contains mentions of violence and is pure and utter trashy smut. So I hope you're satisfied, whomever requested this? And I hope the rest of you enjoy? Lemme know what you think, yeah!? ;)

"And I mean it, gorgeous. If I come back, ready to take you but I find you're already getting along without me, I will hold you down and use this-" He trails off, edging his green-eyed gaze down to his side as he pats his black slacks pocket, the box cutter hidden beneath the lush fabric. "to cut off each little devil you touch yourself with. You got that, my girl?" He finishes, securing himself with a brisk cross of his arms, making sure to flex the newly defined muscles he holds. Christ, he is beautiful, you think. Worth every cent of your common sense lost being with him despite what he is, who he is.

The beautiful, domineering tyrant of a man that was your.. your what? Boyfriend? Owner? Dom? You could fill every wall in Gotham with words of violence, profanity, wish lists, bucket lists, threatening unease, but when it comes trying to find sentences, descriptions that could do Jerome Valeska justice, well, you are rendered speechless. You bow your head, your soft curls pouring over your shoulders causing Jerome to cluck his tongue with disdain. He wants you uncovered for him to feast on before he walks out of the door for Gotham knows how long? You resist the searing urge to roll your eyes and whip out a 'little devil' to flip him a goodbye with, but you know he'll keep to his word if he has to. So instead, instead, you actually listen... for now. Your legs fight the urge to close, the muscles in your thighs practically clawing at you to feed your instincts, your raw urges.

You have several options that you mull over when you slowly flip your hair back for your Jerome, a pleased look washing over his features with you complying so well. You can touch yourself and force him to stay with that temptation alone, risking all ten of your fingers, or you can let him go where he won't know what you're doing here. He won't even suspect. He thinks you're chained to his command, that you won't be bold. Always a good girl for him.

But what you decide not to inform Jerome of, is that you're free as bird within your own mind as well. Your wants, passions, they come out the second you're alone. Why you keep it a secret? Well, you fear he won't want you around anymore if you're like him. He could have Barbara Kean for that, if that's what he wants. A right there means. You on the other tipped hand, you're a challenge. You grit your teeth at that thought of someone else full filling your beautifully insane boy, the next one steam rolling over it painfully.

Yes, if you weren't the light to this fucked up darkness, then what use would Jerome have for you? Granted, he hates the light, right? Or he's only keeping you because he thinks you're different. Something fragile, something to break down. He could never break what was already cracked in the first place. Only you know this. From the moment he captured you for himself, even he couldn't see what's inside you. Or so you thought. Jerome claps his hands together, nodding in approval, that lone red curl bouncing to taunt you. Fuck, you really want to pull that. He's never let you pull that yet.

Your tongue slides across the smooth surface of your teeth, proud of yourself for holding it all together. You'll come apart.. in due time. Jerome is quick to meet you, bending to kiss your forehead, his fingers ghosting across your neck, brushing your pulse point through the flesh. You feel your skin pepper itself with goosebumps, your eyes closing to drink in the aftershave and cologne Jerome has started wearing now. An abrupt stir of your chair has your eyes snapping open in time to see Jerome's hands slap on either side of your head, nose pressed against yours. His demeanor causes his pupils to dilate right before your very eyes. The green disappears until it's a mere rim of color in contrast to the black. His voice is so raspy, so bone chillingly low that you're at his attention, holding yourself to his every word.

"You'll do as I say, won't you, Y/N?" Jerome is nodding, as if to agree with himself on your behalf.

You give a moment's pause until you let yourself answer. Your voice is low, full of respect. You are getting ready to play him like a fiddle, however, adoration or not. Jumping off that precipice of light, into the dark with him. And he wasn't even going to know. "Yes."

 

"That's my baby girl, isn't it? So good for your daddy, aren't you, sweet pie?"

 

"Sweet pie... Hmm, I'm not that sweet, Jerome," You tease him, and he doesn't bite back the smile that cascades across his features. He eases back from you in the chair, pulling his coat on in one quick move.

 

"I'm locking this door behind me. Don't go anywhere either. I'm not in the mood to seek you out. You know I'm all for the games you come up with, gorgeous, but try not to piss me off tonight?" His brow raises in question, to which you nod to comply again. You aren't running. You didn't want to any longer. Not with what you have in front of you.

Jerome tips his fingers against his forehead, that curl draping over the freckled digits he is saluting you with. "I'll return to you soon, princess. Don't do anything that's going to make me have to punish you."

With that, Jerome vanishes out the door, securing it behind him, your pout immensely working its way into your lips. You sigh and drum your fingertips against your thighs, taking appreciation of the freshly shaven skin, to the black nail polish decorating your nails. One thing is for certain, Jerome Valeska likes his captive to live in luxury and look her best for him. You find yourself smirking, peeking at the door, waiting. He could be testing you? He isn't stupid, despite him not knowing the sides of you he's yet to see.

You give up after half an hour, your thighs swaying open and closed. You need something, something... Something that only you can do for you right now. You feel the excitement wrapping itself around your chest, the pressure bounding all over in your stomach. Adrenaline rush of butterflies, you dub it, giggling to yourself as you eye the door in sheer defiance, finally lifting a middle finger to it.

Your light cream colored lace panties are at your ankles in seconds. Rising from your chair you move into the bedroom you and Jerome shared in the open apartment. One still out of sight, but enough not to be closed off. You lick your lips in response to the plush white pillows and the crisp fresh sheets. You know what they smell like. Jerome. Your last few steps have you giddy with the bubbling excitement, your panties hanging off one foot as if you were playing hula-hoop with the garment. You snort and kick up your foot, watching them drop silently onto the comforter. You know this is risky, that you don't have much time, probably, but who cares in this moment?

Your knees are on the bed, dipping the side in as you climb into the thing, immediately rolling onto Jerome's side. Like the little pervert you are, you reach for his pillow, inhaling the scent he bore.

 

"Oh, you little ginger fuck, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into by taking me into your world." Your lips purse together after the sentence leaves it. You give your thighs the relief of parting, un-clenching the tense muscles, filling you with air that you so desperately need between your legs. 

 

The thrill of getting caught simply heightens your mood, your body already reacting for you. You can feel it the moment your fingers tip across your thighs. That heat. That scorching heat that comes from inside.

 

"Mhm, that's me needing you, Jerome," You pant out slowly, your feet planting into you bed below you.

 

You can't remember the last time you were able to whimper his name on your own. The last time you got yourself to a place when you needed it most. Jerome knew you sometimes got off in the shower, of course, because he was practically on the other side of that flimsy curtain. Always loving a good show. But coming down to it? Jerome likes to be the star attraction. You nuzzle your cheek once more into his pillow, your fingers combing up your soaked slit. You tread with caution, knowing full well you can't get any proof of this venture onto the sheets. He'll have your tail.

You jerk into your wandering fingertips, a smile delighting your mouth in its wake. So wet. You could feel it on your fingers. Thick like honey. You mewl and buck hard into your palm, your clit getting the satisfaction of friction. The buildup was going to do you in, you feel as if... You crave to tease yourself, prolong to blow your own fucking mind. Time though, time isn't on your side. You sigh, rolling over onto your right side facing the door, to keep watch.

You let out a small whimper, engulfing your hand in between your thighs, trapping it. The pink lingerie scrapes your knuckles, whirling around your senses. Just... let go, you tell yourself, permitting your eyes to shut now. They close ever so slowly, the sensation of you the remaining sense you choose to get high off. You inhale rather loudly, Jerome's scent piling into you, burying itself.

Much like the fingers you suddenly thrust up inside yourself, the pad of your thumb wiggles against the little nub nestled just above, making it dangerously sensitive, throbbing. You rock into your hand, your wrist slipping against your damp thighs. You bunch Jerome's pillow under your neck, writhing, ready. Your eyes dance with shapes, stars your vision can produce only for you.

It becomes so much so soon, your eyes fighting against the blood churning stampede, making your vision flicker. Your eyes flutter open, everything coming into near focus. That's when you see him. The tall silhouette standing there, bags discarded by his feet, pants skin tight against his growing hardness. His teeth held his bottom lip, that stubble covered jaw he runs a hard set of fingers across. Those eyes were dark, so gone. The pupils sinking the green, leaving a lavish glossy shine to those haunting orbs. His red hair clung to him perfectly as always, sideburns proudly kept. That lone piece fanning itself with each breath that he takes. His all black ensemble heightens his persona, making you snap up and realize.

 

"Fuck!" Jerome is here. And you talking might've just made it worse on you by actually speaking.

 

Your blood chills in your veins, that crisp, sharp cold snapping its teeth at you, getting caught into the heat from your pending orgasm, ramming into a clash that has you dizzy, trying to get back into your panties, fix the bed, which now bore a damp spot on Jerome's side. It's all so much you find you're not able to breathe at all. Panicked, even. Would he really cut your hands up? Dismember you?

You start to take steps back, preparing to fight him. You can see his tongue slick across the middle of his clenched teeth after he releases his now copper stained lower lip. He's gonna kill me, fuck me, why am I not able to stop touching myself? Why did I need him so bad this time, you berate yourself? It dawns on you, halting your movements. You care for him. You were, you are craving him, you still desire him. You needed to come thinking about him or you would descend into insanity.

"My, my, my. I feel offended, baby doll. A show that I didn't get front row tickets to? Do you hate me?" Jerome manages to speak, his tongue oddly playful, causing you to frown, daring yourself to finally just fucking speak.

 

"You're home early, I was just-"

 

"No, no, gorgeous. I'm late, actually. How many have you had? Do tell..." He eases from his jacket, letting it hit the plastic bags. It all sounds so muffled to your ears, your rapid heart racing in echoes against the drums. You shift your attention to the wall clock above the bed, noting it was late. He is home late. You are a fucking idiot, a fucking failure. Making wrong move after wrong move. Your attention leaves Jerome to peak at the clock, your silent answer clear to him that you haven't came at all yet, but he still isn't having it.

 

"You disobeyed me, Y/N/. And as I enlightened you during our first... meeting. And I make bank on my promises, now don't I?"

You give a meek nod, too off put, frightened a little to be a smart ass.

 

"So quiet when you weren't moments ago. Do I not qualify to look at your body now? To know what you do, Y/N?"

 

"Of course not!" You surprise yourself, getting it out.

 

Jerome slips the box cutter from his pants, waving it at you with that devilish grin, producing the blade. He jams a thumb against it, recoiling manically, smirking at you through the nightfall flooding the windows, coating the hardwood in lush shadows. "Ssss, ow, princess, it's pretty sharp. It'll get the job done rather fast. I'm almost embarrassed. Too fast isn't pleasurable for anyone, I say. But you, you don't agree with me."

 

"I do, Jerome, I do. I just... needed you, baby, I did." Your lips part, your jaw aching from tightening with nerves.

 

He looks surprised at the nickname. You've only ever referred to him as baby when he's balls deep inside you, your nails cutting open his back from the pleasure of it all. He looks enraged now, throwing the weapon until it bounces next to your head and lands by your naked feet.

 

"I TOLD YOU NO! You ignored me, you didn't- you didn't pay attention to me! You didn't honor me like you promised me you would! I HATE YOU, Y/N/! You're bad," He seethes, tumbling into that Valeska exterior that you can't work against.

 

You're frozen, his shouts still sticky on these walls. Threats, laughing at you, plaguing you with warning, trying to link up your own darkness. No, no you can't loose Jerome. You can't let it get you. The fear swells around your chest, your bottom lip trembling the closer he gets to you. You twist your shoulders back and forth, your breath coming out in rude trembles. "I was thinking about you inside of me, because I love it when you're there. Everything is free... I... you can hurt me, Jerome, but please, please don't hate me. You can't. I couldn't handle it.. N-not you."

You offer up your shaking fingers that steady for him, looking him in the eyes, watching disbelief register, vanquishing into awe. He reaches out to you, but side steps your hopeful look at the last minute.

 

"Let me see you." He tuts violently, his eyes seeking out the area between your legs.

 

You regard his command by jutting out your right knee, pulling up your nightgown. So very exposed to him. He rolls his fingers, snarling into a sharp intake of breath.

 

"Open."

 

The chill retreats with cowardice, the warmth burning like fire as your fingers push back your folds to show your heat to Jerome.

 

"That's my girl. Look at you. Is all of this for me after all?" Jerome coos, stepping up to you and dropping to his knees, tapping his left shoulder. You slink your leg up over him, that hot breath blowing air onto your sex. Jerome is admiring you, looking at your arousal with that abandonment of reality, as if you're this dream, this magic to him.

You aren't anywhere near ready when his hand is around your throat, those fingers squeezing your focus out. You teetered on the cliff of some precipice Jerome owns. He backs you to the bed, hand pressing into your throat, before discarding you at the foot. Your legs dangle over the end, toes tipping onto the floor. His slack clothed leg rolls into your own, nudging your heat by the knee. You cry out, unsure how to manage this feeling about to burst inside of you.

Jerome is holding you down again by your neck, but the grasp isn't too steady. He drums his fingertips across your jugular, separating them to lean and lick the perspiration of your skin through the gap.

 

"Fear. Excitement. I love it so much, Y/N! Just like I love your pretty pussy. I love letting go inside of you." Jerome retrieves the item on the bed you forgot exists. He switches the blade up, your mouth opening to let out a small shriek.

 

"Don't worry, we'll get you more," He soothes his actions, confusing you, stunning you with what follows after its left that perfect mouth. He slides the blade all the way down the front of the pale pink material, the tearing having that cocky growl chalk up his features. The fabric scraps to the sides, your nipples already taunt, eager to be serviced. Out in the open. Your chest heaves rather spastically, your neck giving way to the blush at how badly you're affected.

 

"I could slit your throat? Carve you until you were, until you are caved open from your skull."

 

You still, swallowing harshly into a gulp that rams against his fingers on your throat.

 

He eyes you carefully, pushing your hair back in thought. "You're not trapped with me. You're free. I took you before the machine crushed you, ya know?"

 

You dart out your tongue to wet your lips, your mouth slick when you speak lowly for solely Jerome to hear. "I'm not a cog in a tiny machine anymore. You saved me, Jerome," You whisper, reaching up to grip his knife, arching up your chest into it. "do it. You can hurt me. But I can't touch you if you take my hands... Please don't punish yourself too, Jerome."

 

He seems to ponder this, biting on his tongue. You see the knife disappear, and he has your panties now. Oh, you sigh in relief, but it's short lived when your hands are pinned above you, twisted in the drenched lace, and you're jerked up onto your knees.

 

"I saw you with my pillow. Do you like it? You're a bad baby girl for your daddy, aren't you, Y/N? And if I'm not going to take your fingers, then I'm going to show you in another way."

 

You watch helplessly as a pillow is stuffed between your legs, propping you up. Jerome undoes his slacks, taking himself from those tented boxers. You eye him like prey. He smirks, tssking at you, he snaps his fingers. "Ride."

 

You're grumbling now, knowing. There's a lot of ways you can get off. But without your clit being touched or something being inside of you, Jerome knows that you can't get there. With your balance jarred by your panty confined hands, you ride over the pillow, your folds leaving your arousal all over the fabric. It stimulates you, giving you enough to bring you up, but not enough to keep you there.

Jerome is watching you, eyes on you, freckled fingers wrapped around his cock. You want him to fuck you. Hurt you. Cause bruises. But you don't dare speak, not able to spur yourself on. You were being punished and he can make it so much worse. You ride, buck, thrust to the point of frustration that has tears pooling in the corner of your lashes. About to explode, Jerome comes to relieve you, throwing the pillow at the end of the bed and tugs you off the bed by your ankle, dragging you up by your throat, taking you in a vertigo circle to the foot once more.

He inches you onto the pillow, your ass settled in your own juices. And he taps on either side of you, demanding you. Your feet turn out, propping your knees up on the bed, wide and open you are for him. He's a greedy ginger. He bends down quickly, his teeth biting your nipple between them, that piece of red hair of his flopping over your cheeks, your nose, your mouth, your face. Jerome captures your mouth into a hungry kiss about the time he brings his hand down and slaps your pussy, his fingers slipping and sliding rather sloppily against your arousal. He brings his hand back down to his cock and coats himself with you, stroking, jerking himself.

He's moving atop you now, knees between yours, pressing into the edge of the mattress, one arm beside your head, the other he releases his dick, taking your tied hands and throwing them in a loop over his head to settle around his neck. You watch him, time pouncing on you with each languid movement his hand makes. He brings his cock up your slit, pushing on the sides with the pre-cum soaked head.

 

"Oh, gorgeous. How wet my bad girl is. Does she want me inside her?" Jerome questions you, your abrupt nod, giving a playful thrust of your hips.

 

Jerome steadies himself to begin, concentrating. His deep pants clawing out of his lungs loudly. He circles the head of his cock against your clit, the fireworks going off already. He sets a pace, rutting his cock over your clit over and over and over again. You're a mess, a quivering mess, not even able to scratch his back or touch him. Your fingers remain powerless with your tightly bound wrists. You're not able to beg, you already know this. You're whimpering, loosing it.

His pre-cum meshes with your arousal, that filthy sound of wet skin rubbing, slapping wet skin back fills the space. Fuck, probably the entire apartment. Jerome breaks you from your reverie, sliding a finger beside his dick to rub you, stimulating your clit from each side. Like a ping pong is your orgasm. Your body no longer responsible for what is about to occur.

 

"Who's the boss?" Jerome barks out, sliced breathing flowing from his mouth onto your own. He slaps his cock against your clit again.

 

You can't answer, so close to... to coming.

 

"Who's." Slap. "the." Slap. "Boss?" Slap.

 

"I'm the boss," Jerome laps out, you orgasm curling into your toes, hanging obsessively on his every word. His cock thickening, signaling his impending release to follow.

 

Right there! Yes. Right there, Jerome!

 

"You're the boss, Jerome! My fucking daddy Valeska!" You scream out the words, free as a fucking blue bird.

And it's gone as easily as it began, it's dulled now. All the energy of the fire stalls at your belly, rendering you wide eyed. Jerome withdraws his cock and thrusts himself up into you in time to spill his hot release inside of you as soon as he's sheathed. Your walls drink up what he gives you with all the power they can muster, screaming to be set free like you are when you're with Jerome. And with you now after being with him for so long.

You get it entirely the second he pulls out, unbinding your wrists and cleaning himself off, tucking himself back into his slacks. You're an aching mess, hair wild and disheveled, nipples sore from the taunt, and absentee affection, the one bruise he left. He's glowing, all giddy as he practically dances across the hardwood, picking up the bags he had dropped earlier, to show you that you're not coming, and that you know never to disobey him again.

 

"Come see the presents I got you, gorgeous."


End file.
